


Pretty Bird

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Celebrations, Childhood, Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: In our quieter moments, we’d sit together in the meadow, and she’d pet me and watch the sunlight turn my wings into rainbows.Pretty bird, she said.





	Pretty Bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllegoriesInMediasRes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/gifts).



Although the legendary tale of The Sleeping Beauty may have made me famous – and Maleficent may use her magic to make me into a man (and other things) on occasion – there’s nothing inherently special about me. I’m just another common raven. Yes, you heard right: common. It’s right there in the name.

As you may expect, given that, I had the commonest of common upbringings. I was hatched in a nest in the boughs of an oak tree on the edge of the Moors. My parents dutifully tended me and my three siblings until we fledged. Then we left the nest for good and began to explore the world around us.

Leaving the nest emphatically did not mean leaving one’s family – no, at least not for a raven. Our parents still had plenty to teach us. Together, we learnt where to go and what to do to get food; we learnt about what is safe and what is dangerous.

And, we learnt how to have _fun_. Yes, you heard right: fun. Ravens love to play. We soar and wheel and dive and chase each other through the air purely for the thrill of it. We sneak up behind other animals and pull their tails. Then we laugh, caw and skedaddle backwards when they lurch at us in fury. In winter, when there’s freshly fallen snow, we roll and slide down hills.

You need food and shelter to live, it’s true, but playtime is what makes that life worth living…and playtime, more often than not, is a team effort.

I’ll always believe that.

 

The humans like to say that we’re ‘ill-omened’. They don’t like it that we scavenge the bodies of their dead. And they don’t like it that we’re black.

There’s nothing wrong with being black. Black isn’t just a colour, I’ll have you know. Black wings are _strong_ wings. I mean, have you ever met a white raven? I have, and _woah_. A more raggedy bird you never did see! Their wing feathers are as fragile and brittle as snowflakes. And so, if I’m honest, are their personalities…

…but I digress. Ahem. My sincerest apologies. Forgive me.

Another thing humans really don’t like about us ravens is that we raid their fields of corn when we’re hungry. I did that, and my life was nearly forfeit as a consequence. So much for eating to live.

I was young and foolish back then. I’d just left my family, so I was on my own. Really, I was lucky that Maleficent saved me. She said she wanted me to be her wings, to replace the wings that had been stolen from her, and I pledged myself to her service in perpetuity. By the end, though, I was more than just her wings. No, by the end, I’d become her friend as well.

We ravens are gregarious; it’s in our nature. We’re good at making friends, and we make good friends too, if I do say so myself.

Just ask Aurora. She may be a queen now, but I – Diaval, the bog-standard, common raven – was her first and dearest childhood friend.

 

The three pixies were not up to the task of caring for a human child. That much was painfully apparent very early on.

Maleficent had wanted me to be her wings. In practice, I also became her eyes and ears. After Aurora was born, though, I became…more. So much more.

I was helping to feed Aurora from the very first, of course, and I stayed with her whilst she slept. I rocked her cradle to sooth her crying, and I kept watch for danger. There were potential menaces like wolf packs and bands of human vagabonds in the forest, and if they roamed too close to the cottage, I’d sound the alarm, and if the pixies couldn’t handle the trouble themselves, I’d call for Maleficent.

Maleficent was plenty equal to any wolf pack or band of vagabonds.

As Aurora grew from infancy, it became clear to me that she suffered from one further deficiency: She had no one to play with. What kind of childhood is a childhood without fun?

So, I played with her. I’d do things like sneak up behind her and pull her long blonde hair – just enough to get her attention! not to hurt her! – and then she’d chase me, running so fast and laughing so hard that she’d practically lose her breath. I would bring her pretty pebbles from the river beds and bits of twig and vine to use to make toys. And in winter, I taught her how to roll downhill in the snow.

In our quieter moments, we’d sit together in the meadow, and she’d pet me and watch the sunlight turn my wings into rainbows.

 _Pretty bird_ , she said.

 

Aurora is a woman grown now – and ruler of both humans and fairies alike. She has also had many children of her own.

So, as a matter of fact, do I.

Thanks to Aurora, common ravens such as myself are no longer reviled by humankind. We’re no longer their ill-omened harbingers of misfortune and death. Our reputation has been rehabilitated. Instead, if you can believe it, they call us ‘wise’. Sometimes ‘mischievous’.

For it’s a wise bird indeed who knows how important it is to have fun.

Once every year, on one very special day, when the leaves begin their transformation from green to gold, the farmers lay out bales of hay and piles of corn, and the children lay in wait.

They never need to wait for long before the ravens arrive, thousands upon thousands, flocks which fill the sky overhead with shimmering black as far as the eye can see.

On this very special day, by Royal proclamation, no raven need fear the farmer’s wrath or the hunter’s snare. On this very special day, we feast and make merry. We play games of chase and hide and seek with the children. Sometimes, we make new friends to last a lifetime.

They call it ‘Ravensday’, and the annual celebration is to honour the friendship between Queen Aurora and Diaval (that’s me!).

Anyway.

As I’ve said, Aurora may not be a child anymore. Yet though she may be a high and mighty queen of two kingdoms, she’s still not above having her hair pulled in fun. I always make a point of reminding her that too on our day.

 

* * *

_**-fin-** _


End file.
